Brewer's Tale, The (41 page)

Master Proudfellow examined the toe of his boot. ‘If that's the way the wind blows …' He paused. ‘She's also said —' He pulled his top lip a couple of times.

‘What? I would rather know than remain in ignorance. After all, if I'm to run a business, I need to know what my customers think or what they're being told to.'

‘Forgive me for repeating this, but she says you're a stain that will spread and mark any who come into contact with you. That your ale and that sour drink (her words, Mistress Sheldrake, not mine, I've grown quite partial to the beer) you make is contaminated. She tells everyone who will listen and, in Elmham Lenn, there're many.'

We fell into silence, the only sound the rumble of the wood on gravel and the grunts of the men as they hefted the barrel into the cart. A lone bird circled high above.

‘There, I told you. I feel no better for having done so.' He replaced his cap, giving it a tug for good measure. ‘You're not to listen to that rubbish, Mistress Sheldrake. That Mistress Makejoy's poison — one draught and all who taste it will suffer blight.' With a huff of indignation, Master Proudfellow folded his arms.

I began to laugh.

‘Begging your pardon, mistress, but I hardly see the funny side.'

‘Don't you? Oh, Master Proudfellow, according to the town, I'm a stain and to hear you tell, my cousin is poison. Seems to me that between us, we're an affliction worse than the pestilence.'

Master Proudfellow's lips twitched, then he too began to chuckle. ‘I doubt she'd see it like that. But I know which disease I'd rather catch.' We both laughed then and I rested a hand briefly on his forearm, grateful for his frankness. No matter how much I pressed Saskia and Adam whenever they returned from town, they wouldn't tell me what was being said. When Louisa stopped taking the children to see the troupes of actors passing through on their way up the coast for Eastertide, I knew things were worse than I'd feared. Hiske and her twisted tongue I could live with — I was accustomed to her ways — but not her influence. As for superstition, I could hardly blame folk for feeling that way. Even before Father died, ill-fortune dogged our family — it wasn't until he'd passed that I understood how much.

With a sigh, I pocketed the pennies Master Proudfellow paid and, saying my farewells, set Westel to stirring the mash. I went to the office to deposit the coin in the tin and, for the umpteenth time that week, add up the ledgers.

Not even Good Friday and Easter Sunday broke what had become a daily habit: tallying up the coin, adding up the columns, hoping and praying for an increase in sales that would allay my growing fear. The figures barely changed from day to day, but so long as there was something to place into the credit column, I could persuade myself that our goal of paying the lease was coming closer, even as I knew the only person I was fooling was myself.

Just before sext on Easter Monday, I left Westel tending the boiling wort and went to the house. Saskia met me at the door to the kitchen.

‘There's a gentleman to see you.'

‘Who?' I wasn't expecting anyone.

‘Sir Rainford.'

‘Sir Rainford?' My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Why didn't you say?' I quickly undid my apron and threw it on the bench. ‘Does he have refreshment? Where is he?'

‘Adam is with him and
ja
, he and his squire have drinks.'

Bending in front of a large upturned pot, I tried to see my reflection, straighten my kerchief, tidy my hair. My heart was beating and my throat dry. It took a moment to register Saskia's words. ‘His squire? Is Tobias here too?' I swung around.

‘Mistress Anneke,' said Saskia, shooing Blanche and Iris who, seeing me so flustered had paused in their tasks. ‘Anneke,' she lay her fingers against my wrist, ‘it's not Sir Leander Rainford who's here. It's the other one.'

‘The other?' I stared at her. ‘Who?'

‘The elder brother, I believe, Sir Symond. He says he's here on behalf of his father. Mistress,' she lowered her voice, ‘he told Adam he's here to collect the lease monies. That it's time to honour the contract.'

I stared at her in horror. ‘Today? But he's at least a week early.'

Saskia bit her lip.

The blood fled from my face. ‘If that's the case,' I said, my shoulders slumping, ‘we're doomed.'

HOLCROFT HOUSE

Easter Monday, eight days before Hocktide

The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV

E
rasing the despair from my face, I took a deep breath and entered the office. A tall man with dark hair, grey eyes and a grossly misshapen nose rose languorously out of my father's chair. Across his hips he wore a thick belt, and from it hung a huge scabbard from which an ornate and bejewelled hilt protruded. The size and evident seriousness of the weapon was at odds with the fashionable, almost frivolous, garments he wore. I noted the open ledger before him, the half-drunk mazer of ale. This man had made himself comfortable indeed.

In the corner stood another well-dressed, younger man.

‘Sir Symond?' I asked, and bobbed a curtsey. ‘My lord, you are very welcome.'

‘Indeed,' said Sir Symond, giving me a small bow and looking me up and down in the invasive manner particular to his family. ‘Sir Symond Rainford. This is my squire, Michael de Montefort.' I nodded to Master de Montefort, who barely acknowledged me, a look of disdain on his features. Shocked at such contempt from someone who was, at the least, my social equal, I turned back to Sir Symond. ‘And you must be Anneke Sheldrake.'

‘My lord.' I lowered my head. I gestured to Adam who stood to one side. ‘You've met Adam Barfoot, my steward.'

‘I have.'

Before I could invite him, Sir Symond sat back down. I perched on the stool opposite, rearranging my tunic to cover my unease. Behind me, Adam and Master Michael stood at either end of the cold hearth. ‘How can I help you?' I asked.

‘Come, come. I think you know why I'm here, Mistress Sheldrake.' Tipping his head to one side, he smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

‘Even so, to avoid confusion, I'd be very grateful if you would inform me, my lord.'

Sir Symond appraised me as I imagined he would a horse or fatted calf. I wanted to rub my arms, my neck, but I forced my hands quiescent in my lap.

‘Very well. I'm here on my father's behalf to collect the annual dues for Holcroft House and lands. It's my understanding that you,' he dwelled upon my décolletage which I resisted covering, ‘and my father have a contract which expires at Hocktide.'

I willed him to look upon my face. When he did, I answered. ‘This is true, my lord. However, if I may be so bold, you're a few days early. I assumed that collection would not take place until
the day itself
and so have not prepared my dues.' It was hard to keep the remonstration from my tone. ‘I was expecting to make payment on Hocktide. By my calculation, I still have eight more days.'

‘You're mistaken, Mistress Sheldrake.'

‘I do not think so, my lord. Your father —'

‘Entrusted
me
to examine your books and collect all monies owing and that's what I'm here to do. You have too much to say for yourself, Mistress Sheldrake. He warned me as much.' He struck the desk with the flat of his hand, the noise loud and violent in the small space. I almost leapt off my seat. A vein in Sir Symond's temple began to throb. It was then I noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and across the upper part of his cheek. It was white and jagged, pulling the flesh into a ravine. I wondered if he'd received it in battle or from being struck across the face for want of manners. Certainly, he didn't possess the charm of his younger brother or, for that matter, the polish of his father. What he did possess was an awareness of his social status and an ability to make me acutely aware of where I stood.

‘Good,' he said, his lips, which were also ravaged by a deep split, curving into what might have passed for a smile. ‘Now that you're listening, I will say this one more time only: I'm here to collect the rent.'

‘My lord,' Adam stepped from the hearth.

‘Was I addressing you?' snapped Sir Symond.

‘Why, no, but my lord, I —'

‘Will mind your place.' Sir Symond glowered at Adam. ‘As much as it disturbs me to do business with a woman, I'll not discuss these matters with a servant.'

I inhaled sharply. Anger flooded every part of my body and it took all my control not to order this man from the room. I needed his cooperation, not his irritation. I could ill afford to give offence.

Half-twisting in my chair, I gave Adam a reassuring smile, even as I burned. ‘It's all right, Adam, thank you. I'm sure Sir Symond and I can settle this.'

‘There's nothing to settle,' he drawled the last word and stood. ‘Michael, take Master Barfoot and conduct an inspection of the premises, would you? Father wants a report on the condition of the house.' The lie was as evident as his nose, but Sir Symond didn't care.

Adam hesitated. Propriety demanded he didn't leave me unchaperoned. Sir Symond clearly didn't see it as a problem. To him, I was a mere tenant and due no such courtesy.

With a slight brush against my shoulder, which Sir Symond observed with an arch of his brow, Adam ushered Michael de Montefort from the office.

Waiting till his squire closed the door behind him, Sir Symond sank back into the chair and drank. ‘Where were we?' He smacked his lips together. ‘This is uncommonly good,' he muttered. ‘Oh, aye, the lease.'

Taking my time, I rose from my seat and moved to the hearth. I wanted distance between us. ‘The facts are, my lord, I cannot pay the lease in full today. I'm short by a small amount. However, I hope that by Hocktide I'll have the requisite monies.'

Putting down the mazer, Sir Symond rested his elbows on the table and pressed his palms together in an attitude of prayer. He possessed long, thick fingers with calluses across the palm — the hands of someone used to wielding a sword. Famous for his bravery across Elmham Lenn and beyond — how he'd ridden at the king's side at Shrewsbury, masqueraded as our monarch to confuse the enemy, single-handedly saving him when an arrow struck him in the face — stories of how Sir Symond earned his knighthood were well known. It was rumoured he was about to be endowed with a greater honour as well, reward for his courage against the Welsh and his loyalty to the House of Lancaster. This was a man accustomed to victory.

I swallowed, feigning indifference to his bold gaze.

‘Despite what Father and Leander told me,' his voice was quiet, amused, ‘you're not what I expected.'

Leander had spoken of me to his brother?
I knotted my fingers together. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint.'

‘Disappoint?' Pushing back his chair, he stood and came around to the other side of the desk, the mazer small in his huge hand. ‘On the contrary, that's not the word I'd have used. You're nothing like your mother, not really …'

He knew my mother?
His eyes were the colour of the sea as it lapped the ships in port. I lowered mine. The conversation was heading down a dangerous path.

‘The facts are, my lord,' I took a step towards the door, keeping my voice businesslike, trying not to let this man see how much he unnerved me, ‘as I wrote to your father and brother, we had an … an incident here. A tragedy, actually. One of my servants, Will Heymonger, was —'

‘Murdered,' finished Sir Symond. ‘I was informed. I'm not sure why you see fit to raise it, Mistress Sheldrake, or why you wasted time appraising Father or Leander. It's irrelevant. A contract is a contract and must be honoured regardless of any inconvenience.'

My cheeks grew hot.

‘Aye, my servant's death was most
inconvenient
.' I spat the word and was rewarded with a flicker of those hard eyes. ‘It's meant that not only have we been a hand short, but due to superstition and fear, custom has all but dried up and the monies I'd anticipated receiving have failed to materialise. In light of what's happened, I'd hoped … rather, I'd intended to ask your father if I might change the terms of our contract.'

I'd never considered this. I was simply clutching at straws, thinking on the wing.

‘
Change
them? Mistress Sheldrake, you're clearly unfamiliar with —'

I swept on as if he hadn't spoken.

‘I intended to ask if I might pay Lord Rainford for the months already owed now and the months I owe in advance at a later date.' I ducked behind the desk and swung the ledger around to underline my point.

Sir Symond turned slowly, his face suffused with colour. I pretended not to see.

‘If you will look here, my lord, you will see that I can readily pay —'

‘I'm afraid that will not do, Mistress Sheldrake. The terms of the contract are clear.' Placing down the drink, he reached into a coat pocket and produced a copy of the original, tossing it upon the desk and gesturing for me to read. ‘I suggest you familiarise yourself with what you and my father agreed upon once more.' One side of his mouth curled, the contract becoming something vile.